


destroyer;;

by whatshisface



Category: Call of Duty, Call of Duty: Advanced Warfare - Fandom
Genre: Gideon-centric, POV Second Person, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:51:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2609186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatshisface/pseuds/whatshisface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>The Lord answered, “I will be with you, and you will strike down all, leaving none alive.”</p>
  <p>I am a member of Atlas.<br/>I serve Atlas and their clients.<br/>I will always place Atlas' interests first.<br/>I will not be defeated.<br/>I will never be out-worked, out-classed, or out-gunned.<br/>I stand ready to eliminate the enemies of Atlas.<br/>I am <strong>Atlas</strong>.</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	destroyer;;

The doubts start after Greece. Or maybe they were always with you, even before you started thinking yourself as a hero, doing as much good as you could for the people around. It's a matter of the right thing, of believing that people deserve better than the hand they've been given and that Atlas can give it to them. They can save lives by going in, doing better than the ordinary soldier does. After all, that's why you train those boys, isn't it? You turn them into men and make sure they come out best of the best.

After all, death can't get that which it cannot touch. (the concept is shit, something you tell yourself for the sake of keeping your faith alive when the cynicism's kicked in.) 

It hits when you leave that room, turn your back on Ilona and Mitchell, how easy Irons gives them up. The company has always fostered this sense of belonging, this sense of fellowship and the way that the man you believe you know, the way that he looks forward instead of back makes you cold. Your stomach churns but you bite down the bile from remembering how they looked at you. 

Traitor. It isn't the first time you've earned that look, and it won't be the last because something is wrong, something is telling you to use your head, to think and put things together, because when the world went under years ago, Atlas stepped in to fill the cracks. They moved too easily. Cities fell and there were you, there was Mitchell and most importantly, there was Irons to speak for you, to make you look good with words while you used action to prove your worth. It felt good, didn't it? You had the answers. And now all you have are questions. 

You challenge your faith, you take a leap in a direction you hope to God is the right one, because he sure as hell won't give you the answer. On that rooftop, when you let them go, when Joker looks at you as if you're not the man he follows, you avoid his sight and turn to Ilona, make a threat with this step. _you better be right_.

" **Do not be angry with me. Let me make just one more request.** "

\--

One time, Mitchell tells you about Will. It's quiet, nothing expected with the situation, shitfaced at two in the morning, enjoying the rare moment of downtime that the two of you had. He had rolled over in his bunk, stuck his head out to look up at you (although you didn't return the motion and instead stuck a hand out to signal you were listening). He told you about how Will believed in the cause he was fighting for. How instead of a comfy paycheck and access to the best technology in the world, he would rather serve in the military, put his life on the line. 

He tells you how Will goes down, how Mitchell thrashed and squirmed in his own operating room as the doctors held him down, how he yelled at them — _let me see my friend!_ — because down the hall, hooked up to machines, with a tube pumping air into the lungs while pulling blood out, Will was fading. They don't let him see the body. Too busy discharging him because he was unfit for battle, unfit to walk a hospital hallway without breaking down on the tile, damning the fact that he didn't get a word in. 

You're quiet for the story, save for small questions. You ask about the last words.

'See you on the other side.' Mitchell turns over, the words rolling on his tongue like a wave coming in and, not staying but not going either. You set your book down finally, stare at the far wall as Mitchell finishes up, wishes you a good night's rest. 

Will has (had) faith that shakes yours, even in death. It makes you want to be a better man, despite the assurances that you are. (you were faster than him, that's for sure.) You wonder what you would have done in your situation. Would you give yourself up that quickly for another, for the sake of something bigger, something better? Do you love someone enough that you will give yourself up for them? (Will loved Mitchell in the way that Mitchell loved Will. you see it in the way you care for him, as if he was your own, because he _is_ , your own.

and he will follow you where he can, just like he did with Will.) You don't answer that.

\--

You have never been a religious man. You do not fight for someone you aren't sure exists, you fight for the innocent because you sure as Hell know that when someone deserves a chance, not everyone gets it. You claw and bare your teeth towards moments where you can give back when you have taken, pass the opportunity on, because you go through things like a wrecking ball. You are heavy and fast, ready to decimate whatever is in front of you. 

People point and you have followed. You have come from nothing and you have been with everything, with Atlas, where they take care of their own. You have built friendships here, given back because it's the right thing to do, and you get the job done. Now, you have learned to ask why before moving, you have learned to test your faith, to ask God for a sign when your realities get the best of you.

Maybe life does imitate art. Or is it the other way around?

You may not worship, but you defend Mitchell as if it's your life on the line, because damned if you lose one more thing, one more person. Damned if you give up one world for another, only to have it fall out from under your feet. You lurch forward despite the glass when Mitchell yells, when metal and iron meet because _get away from him_ , because Irons may have given Mitchell that arm and he may be taking it back but Mitchell has given all for what he believes in- just as Ilona has given, just as Cormack has given. You are tired of giving and you want to take. You want to tear down Atlas, you want at Irons' throat the way he slams the tool into the arm, the way Mitchell cries out as if Irons is breaking bone, soul.

Never, have you wished as strongly on the death of another man as you did back in Greece, when you agreed to be on the team to take out Hades. 

You and Ilona make your moves and you take down that glass. (Mitchell has taken from you, taken the kill on Hades but you heard it over the comms, heard the way he squirmed and spoke about how Irons was not as he seemed. it helped to fuel the doubt and somehow, because of that, it works out.)

Carrying Mitchell out makes your heart pound, heightens your senses and makes you sensitive to everything trying to get you. There's a glance every now and then, over your shoulder because Mitchell is hurting. Everyone has been hurting but not as bad as Mitchell is. He's limping, slow sometimes when he makes his way to a body, searches for a gun. Sometimes you worry that he is unresponsive when he doesn't answer your calls right away, but you are patient. You trust him because he's all you have in that moment.

On more than one occasion you drop down to help him, gesturing to a pistol or a rifle because _there, on your twelve_. When he looks faint you encourage him, come back to his side to get an arm around your shoulders. (sometimes he flinches when you grab the remnants of his left arm, and you let him look the other way.) 

You continue to carry him out when you can manage. You give him the Goliath because he needs this, want to be of use and you can see it in his eyes He hates having to lean so heavily on you. So you tell him to take the suit and clear the way. He's never worked as fast. 

If Irons is the Idol you must take down, you have become your own man of faith. You search for your own truth, your own answers and you ask for faith from other people. (when you tell Mitchell to trust you in Antarctica, he 's never looked more relieved to see you.)

\--

You want to burn Atlas to the ground, and you want to do it in a way that will tell people not to come back, that will tell them not to dare as Irons has. You want to send a warning while everything else crumbles, to let people know that this kind of action will not be tolerated, that innocent lives are worth a risk but are not worth being sacrificed for the end goal. Everyone needs that chance, everyone deserves to be able to grow. Good men do bad things, but Irons is not that, anything but that. 

Part of you isn't sure how good you are, but you know you're doing the right thing when you drop in with the suits, with Mitchell at your back. Less risk this way (because there is no one left to risk) and with how angry the two of you are, you're guaranteed to get what you need. 

Hours later and you're carrying Mitchell, thinking of that POW camp and you worry about him, hope he's fine and you believe as much with the way he comes in and out, mutters small things, asks for you, for Cormack sometimes. You remind him where you are with a squeeze on his hip before you have to drop him. 

Irons finds you because he always has to have the last word, doesn't he? Not today, not this time. You decide to cut yourself off because he _cannot_ get away. You tell Mitchell to go. 

He's never had as wild of a look in his eyes when he turns to you, ready to protest but you're shaking your head as best as you can because there's no time to argue. He starts to go but he looks back at you, swallows hard before turning on his heel and darting up the stairs. You manage to get out of your exo soon enough. You catch up, just in time to see Mitchell get up and you grab him. He leans heavy into you and you wonder how the two of you have come from this. From everything to nothing, to a fortress with the best technology, to two soldiers with nothing to their name, not even four arms. It's fine. 

You've managed to destroy everything you know, because you have faith in the fact that you'll get out of this alive. Feller of Atlas, stand tall. You have proven your worth. You are not Atlas. You are Gideon, and there is nothing wrong with that. Not when Mitchell's looking at you like that, not when you find Ilona after the end of things. 

It will have been worth it, in the end.


End file.
